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Simon's bass rumble, reminded Alinor she was a new-wedded wife. "I thought you had," she replied, stretching sinuously. |
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"I have only blown the froth off the beer," he said. "Now I am ready to drink in earnest." He started to turn toward her but desisted with a slight gasp. |
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Alinor could feel him gathering himself for another effort, and she put a hand on his shoulder to keep him flat. "You hurt your knee," she murmured. "I should have thought of that, but my mind was elsewhere." |
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"Mine also. That was how I came to hurt it. It does not matter," Ian insisted. |
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"No, of course not," Alinor agreed, "but there is no reason for you to be uncomfortable. Lie still and let me play the master. You will not regret it." |
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It was a novel idea to Ian. For one thing, his hasty couplings of guilt had left little time for experimentation. Even when husbands are known to be absent, there are always other prying eyes to avoid. For another, Ian had always automatically assumed the dominant role as a lover and, because he seldom remained long with a mistress, none had known him well enough or securely enough to suggest innovations for which there was neither need nor excuse. He did not answer, but Alinor could feel the tension of preparing to move go out of him. |
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She lifted herself on one elbow to lean over him, kissed his lips softly, moved her mouth to suck his throat and then his ear. Her free hand caressed his body, playing it as a skilled minstrel plays a harp. Simon was not a young man, and Alinor had been taught many tricks that wake and build passion. When Ian began to writhe and strain upward toward her, she left off what she was doing with her mouth to murmur, "Quiet. Be quiet. Your pleasure will be greater if you lie still." |
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He was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, gasping air, when she mounted him. Even then she played with |
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